


Journeys

by NebraskaWildfire



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-28
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:00:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 17,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27202150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NebraskaWildfire/pseuds/NebraskaWildfire
Summary: The boys make another friend.
Comments: 35
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

It had all been going so well.

Hannibal Heyes was very pleased with himself. He had not been able to convince his cousin, partner, and best friend to jump onto the train at Coyote Gulch but having him and Preacher board the train at the stop prior seemed to have worked just as well. Heyes and the rest of the gang waited on the hilltop in the concealing line of trees. As the train started to slow, they approached the logs piled over the track. According to his plan, it should have started to slow earlier, and made a gradual decline, so that no one would have been hurt. It was braking more sharply than Heyes wanted to see, but it would still stop short of the logs. It would definitely stop short of the trestle bridge further down the line, where Kyle had placed the dynamite, which would be exploded once the robbery was finished. This would keep the train from proceeding to the next town and give them additional time to get away before any posse gathered. 

As the brakes made their final squeal, Heyes signaled for the boys to break cover and surround the train. He was just about even with the engine, when he saw Kid Curry herd one of the engineers off the train, just as planned. Heyes frowned. There should be two engineers on this train. He was certain of it. Only one stepped down and Curry signaled Lobo to approach and dismount.

This was not according to plan. Heyes wanted to keep as many of the men mounted as possible, to assure a quick getaway.  
Lobo climbed up into the engine, as the Kid covered the engineer on the ground. Soon Lobo reemerged hauling the body of the other engineer, and with some effort, got him off the train.

Heyes suddenly noticed how the Kid was cradling his left arm close to his body. His shirt looked burnt. He closed the distance and locked gazes with his cousin. The Kid was stoic as always during a robbery. Only Heyes could see that he was in pain.  
“Lobo, you do a good job tying up those two.” The Kid was still covering both engineers.

“Marston is out cold,” the other engineer protested, as Lobo finished binding his hands behind his back, and having him sit on the ground.

“Don’t mean he’ll stay that way.” The Kid didn’t meet Heyes’ gaze again until both were bound up.

“Lobo, go help Wheat with the passengers,” Heyes ordered. After he left, Curry carefully climbed down from the engine and Heyes dismounted.

“What happened?” Concern was in Heyes’ eyes, but his voice remained as sharp as the Kid’s.

Curry’s eyes were steel blue. “One of them didn’t agree with your plans, Heyes. He didn’t want to get robbed, until we had a bit of a discussion.”

“You brained him with the butt of you gun!” the engineer on the ground exclaimed.

Heyes drew his gun and put it in the man’s face. “I’d be quiet if I were you.”

“I thought the Devil’s Hole gang weren’t supposed to hurt anyone when they robbed trains!” the man groused.

“We’ve never shot anyone, you stupid …” Heyes took a deep breath and steadied himself. “Always can be a first time.” He glared at the man who finally shut up. He turned, holstering his gun and leading the Kid away, careful not to touch his left arm. He exchanged a look with his partner, who shook his head.

“I hit him only after he shoved me onto the boiler plate.” Curry winced slightly. “I think he may have broken my arm as well as burnt it.”

Heyes’ eyes remained hard. “Stupid people gonna get us all killed, tryin’ to be heroes. Should just do what we tell them.”

“He said this was the third time he’d been on a train we robbed and he wanted it to be the last.”

“Still just plain stupid.” Heyes walked up to Preacher. “Everything under control here?” His eyes communicated that he wanted to hear only one answer. Luckily for everyone Preacher obliged.

“’Course, Heyes. Everyone’s off the train and sitting yonder.” A couple gang members were mounted and had six guns ready, covering the crowd. 

The Kid was about to holster his gun, when a young woman stood up as they approached.

“Ma’am,” Preacher started. “Would be best if you just stay with the others.“

“But my parasol!” she exclaimed. “It’s on the train still, and I desperately need it, to keep this sun off of my fair complexion!” She started towards the train, just as Kyle came running towards them.

“Everyone down. It’s gonna blow!” he shouted.

The Kid instinctually grabbed at the woman with his free hand to pull her down. She landed on his arm and his cry of pain went unheard under the sound of the explosion.

After quiet settled around them again, Heyes glared up at Kyle. “Would’ve been better if you’d’ve given us a bit more warning, Kyle.”

“Sorry, Heyes.” Kyle looked contrite, but then grinned. “I’d better go see what we got.” He jumped up and trotted off towards the mail car, where the safe had been.

Heyes made to follow him, when he heard the Kid make a strange sound, as the woman pushed herself off of him. He was trying his best to maintain control, but sparks were starting to fly from his ice blue eyes.

“Ma’am.” Preacher politely, but quickly led her away from the Kid. “You wait right over here and I’ll go fetch your parasol.” He gave a look to Heyes and hurried off.

Heyes knelt down by the Kid, who was again cradling his arm. “You gonna be okay, ‘til we get away, or not?”

Curry was trying to come up with the answer Heyes wanted to hear, when another woman cautiously approached. She had deep auburn hair, pulled back into a tidy bun, hazel eyes which showed some intelligence behind a pair of spectacles, and was dressed in a serviceable gray travel suit.

“Sir … “she began.

Heyes turned towards her. “Ma’am, if you’re needin’ your parasol too, you’ll just have to wait,” he huffed, with his eyes sparking.

“Sir, it appears that your companion is hurt.” She studied the Kid’s arm, from the burnt shirt to the odd angle of the forearm.

“Yes, ma’am,” Heyes interrupted. “I’m trying to figure out how much.” He turned back to Curry, but she continued.

“I have some training, so I could be of some help.” She approached closer, wary of the gun still in the Kid’s other hand.

“Corabelle, come back and leave them be.” Another woman who looked to be an older version beckoned her back. “I’m sure they can take care of their own.” She looked fearful. “They’re outlaws.” She whispered rather loudly.

“Yes, Momma, I know, but …” She turned from her mother back to the Kid.

“Ma’am, the sooner they’re done, the sooner they’ll leave,” one of the men spoke up. “T’ain’t right, you touching a wanted man.”

“But you won’t be able to ride, with your arm like that.” Corabelle met the Kid’s eyes boldly. He didn’t disagree. Then she looked at Heyes. “I’m certain it’s broken and you can see it’s burnt.”

As Heyes let out a breath and nodded, she hurried over to examine the Kid’s arm.

“I’ll need some water to get this material away from the burn. And some splints, bandages, and salve.” She looked up at Heyes and then the Preacher who was coming back from the rail car with the lady and her parasol. “I have all those in my bag. It’s in that carriage.”

“You.” Heyes pointed at the other woman. “Sit over there. Now.” His voice was efficient, but sharp. “Preacher, take her to get her bag and make it quick.”

Heyes had the canteen off of his horse and was reseated by the Kid by the time they were back. She had started working on the Kid’s arm when Wheat and Kyle walked up.

“What’s wrong now, Heyes?” Wheat asked.

“Nothing. Just got to get everyone ready to ride.” Heyes was terse. “You got the haul?”

Wheat nodded and patted the saddle bags over his shoulder.

“Then round them up.” He glared at Wheat until he moved. Kyle glanced between the two of them and followed.

“Preacher, mount up and watch the folks over there.”

“Right, Heyes.” He moved off.

Corabelle was producing more unique sounds from the Kid, but it looked like she had the burn on his upper arm bandaged and was ready to set the forearm.

“I’ll need your help, sir.” She looked up at Heyes.

“It’s just Heyes.” He crouched down and waited.

“Hannibal Heyes?” Her eyes widened a bit.

He nodded. She took a breath.

“Hold his arm this way.” With a quick movement, she set the Kid’s arm. He cried out once, and Heyes continued to hold it, as she wrapped it.

“You’ll need to leave it splinted for about a month.” She met Heyes’ eyes.

“Should we have a doc look at it?” he asked.

“You already did.” She broke their gaze and started gathering up her tools. Heyes noticed then that she had a fully functional doctor’s bag. “But having it double-checked in a month would be a good idea.”

“Where you headed?” Heyes caught her eyes again. “Not Emeryville. They got a doctor.”

“Sand Creek.” She smiled slightly and shrugged. “They said they really needed a doctor.”

Wheat rode up at that moment. 

“Folks startin’ to get agitated, Heyes.”

Hannibal Heyes looked up and nodded. He helped the Kid to mount his horse. Then turned back to Corabelle.

“I’d offer to pay you,” he smiled and a dimple broke through. “But …”

She shook her head and handed him a packet of willow powder. “He’ll need this for the pain.” She also handed him a tin. “Put this ointment on the burn every day or two. It should help.”

Heyes put the items in his vest pocket and got up on his own horse, still holding the Kid’s reins. “My sincere thanks then, ma’am. Doctor?”

“Doctor Scott.” She looked up at Heyes, and straightened, standing tall.

“Thank you, Doctor Scott.” He met her eyes once more, then circled his horse to lead the band up the hill into the trees and away from the stopped train.


	2. Chapter 2

Corabelle Scott had been in Sand Creek just about a month. Her mother stayed with her two weeks to help her get settled, but finally took the train back home after she couldn’t convince her daughter to accompany her. Corabelle found the office and accommodations above it modest, but serviceable. There certainly were not any better available in the dust bowl of a town in which she found herself.

She actually had a few patients, all women and children. It was nothing different than she expected. Women doctors were few and far between. The city fathers of Sand Creek, such as they were, were still annoyed with her for not telling them. She had rebutted that if they could find another doctor to come and take her place, she'd be amenable to leaving. One of the reasons she had picked Sand Creek, was because she knew that was not likely to happen.

She did not wish ill on any of the folks that lived around Sand Creek, but she hoped that when a life-threatening injury came to one of the men of the town, they'd finally realize they had made a good choice in bringing her here.

It was late one evening and she was sweeping out her office. The wind blew the sand everywhere and she cleaned continually, to keep ahead of it. Once she had some more patients, she promised herself she would see if she could find a girl to hire to do such work for her. As of now, she admitted, she had more than enough time to do it herself.

She was just about to head up to her rooms, when she heard the front door open. She had not lit any lamps here below, not seeing the need, nor the expense. The setting sun kept her from seeing the faces of the two men, as they entered. The new dust they brought with them suggested to her that they came from one of the neighboring ranches. She was glad she had not yet taken off her apron. It might keep her from having to wash her shirtwaist so soon.

"Something with which I can help you, gentlemen?" She confidently approached them, hoping this was the break for which she was waiting. "I'm Doctor Scott."

"Glad to see you again, Dr. Scott."

She recognized that voice but never thought to hear it again. As they came out of the glare of the setting sun, she saw Hannibal Heyes' dimpled smile and the blue eyes of his partner, Kid Curry.

"Hope we aren't inconveniencing you." Heyes looked around, as Curry did the same.

"You alone here?"

A shiver went up Corabelle's spine, from what she was not certain. She realized she should have been more concerned about being alone with two rather notorious outlaws, but they had been nothing but considerate to her the last time they met.

"Yes, Mr. Heyes."

"The doctor over to Emeryville was shot in a poker game recently, so I brought the Kid here to see you." He locked gazes with her, as if trying to decide how much to trust her. "You said to have him checked in a month to remove the splints."

Corabelle had not planned to expand her practice by treating wanted men, but she had taken an oath as a doctor to do no harm.  
“Please take him into the examination room,” Corabelle matched gazes with Heyes. “I’ll be back once I lock up and pull the shades.”

Heyes simply nodded his agreement.

Corabelle took a few deep breaths as she accomplished her tasks and then turned confidently to deal with her patient.

Kid Curry removed his hat and sat quietly on her examination table. She assumed he had been in a doctor’s office before.

“Has it been bothering you, Mr. Curry?” Corabelle started to unwrap the splint.

“Hurt like … the dickens, ma’am, but it’s better now. I think the burn is too.”

“That ointment worked wonders,” Heyes said from where he was closely observing what she was doing, without being in the way. “Wouldn’t mind having some of that around.”

“It’s an herbal receipt from the Lakota Sioux.” She washed the accumulated dead skin cells off the Kid’s arm and was starting to gently turn and flex it. “If I have enough supplies, I can make you some to take with you.” 

She looked at the Kid’s blue eyes. “If you can remove your shirt, I’ll take a look at the burn.” She turned to dispose of the splints and give him some sense of privacy. She found that it helped the men she treated.

Heyes helped Curry remove his vest and shirt and she examined his arm.

“It looks like you took good care of the burn. There will be some scaring but no other effects.”

“We made certain it stayed clean,” Heyes replied.

“How is the arm feeling?”

“Weak,” the Kid answered.

“But no sharp pains?” Corabelle flexed it again. 

The Kid shook his head.

“You’ll probably feel some muscles pulling until they are back up to strength. I don’t feel any issues. Just slowly start exercising it more.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” The Kid smiled. “Best doctoring I’ve had in a quite a while.”

“Just doing what was necessary, Mr. Curry.” Corabelle strove for a professional demeanor. 

“There’s a lot of doctors that don’t feel that way, ma’am.” The Kid’s blue eyes met her hazel ones. “Some figure it’s the price we have to pay for outlawing.”

“Dr. Harris in Emeryville seems a decent sort.” Corabelle stated. “I met him on the way here, after the robbery.” She met Heyes’ direct gaze.

“He is, when he isn’t drunk or losing at cards. Does make him amenable to treating folks without too many questions.” Heyes started for the door. “We have a payment for you. I’ll be right back with it.”

“That’s not necessary.” Corabelle said to Heyes’ retreating back.

“Best to let him bring it in, Doc.” The Kid smiled. “We thought it might be something you’d take.”

Heyes returned with a bag and handed it to her. Corabelle wondered if it was an excess bank bag, but decided to look inside. She pulled out one of the tins. Opening it, she found it was willow bark powder. Another container held opium powder.

“I figured you could always use medicines,” Heyes met her gaze. “If for folks who can’t pay, if nothing else.”

“Yes, I actually can. It’s not always easy to get supplies this far west.” She returned his look. “Can I ask how you acquired it?”

“We have suppliers we pay.” A half smile came to his face. “I’m sure you’re not surprised that we often find a need for such things.”

Corabelle shook her head and just shrugged. “No, I’m not.”

“The willow comes from one of the Nakota tribes. The opium from back East.”

“The Nakota might have a similar burn cream, but I’ll mix up a sample of what I use.”

Heyes nodded, then fixed her with an intent gaze.

“Why are you willing to help us? Why did you offer to help the Kid at the train?”

“He was in pain.” She returned his intensity. “I took my oath, to help everyone who needs it.”

Just then they heard a rattling of the door. 

“Doc Scott?” It was Horace McCoy, the owner of the mercantile. “You alright in there? I see as you have some late customers?”

“Heyes, we can head out the back.” The Kid started that way, but Corabelle stopped him.

“No, there will be more questions, if you two sneak out.” She looked at Heyes. “Anyone in town know you? Besides me, of course.”

“No, and we’d like to keep it that way.”

“If we say you were some drifters I treated on the way out, there shouldn’t be questions.”

“Did you tell anyone you treated Kid Curry?” Heyes was intense.

“No, I didn’t think it would help be me accepted here.”

“Doctor? You in there?”

Heyes finally nodded and she went to unlock the door.

“Mr. McCoy, how nice of you to be so solicitous, but I’m just finishing up with a patient.” Corabelle smiled.

“Why was the door locked?” Horace looked skeptical.

“I didn’t want just anyone walking in, Mr. McCoy, while I was busy with the patient, not now that it was dark.”

Heyes and Curry came out of the back room.

“Well, they don’t look sick,” Horace said.

“It was my friend here,” Heyes replied with a big smile. “He tripped when we were boarding the train and Doc Scott here fixed him up. She said we could come visit to make certain everything is healed, if we were hereabouts.”

“We was working over to Emeryville, but the Doc there is laid up himself, so we made the trip here.”

McCoy looked like he was going to ask more questions, but Heyes forestalled that, by continuing, “Doc here says my partner is right as rain, so we’ll be leaving. Don’t need to take up any more of her time.” Heyes smiled his way past Horace and the Kid followed. They were on their horses and down the street before Horace could react.

“I know you’re a doc and all, Doc, but having strange men here, late at night …”

“It’s barely supper time, Mr. McCoy.” Corabelle started sweeping out her floor, yet again, for the day. “And I knew them, having treated on before.” She paused with her broom. “Won’t Mrs. McCoy be waiting dinner on you?”

“Yes, Doc, she will be, but this just shows …”

“That the town needs a doctor available all the time?” Cora smiled. “Yes, I agree, but now I need to get to my own supper.”   
She held the door open and Horace had no choice but to depart.

Cora picked up the medicine tins that the leaders of the Devil’s Hole gang had brought her as payment and looked at them for a moment. Then she unlocked her medicine cabinet and stored them away.


	3. Chapter 3

A month later Corabelle found herself in Emeryville. Dr. Harris was recovering remarkably well from his gunshot wound, but it appeared to keep him from performing any of the more strenuous or delicate procedures on his own. She was surprised when she received the telegraph from him, asking for assistance, but as her workload in Sand Creek was still rather light, she responded that she could be there tomorrow by train.

A few men had been trickling into her surgery recently. She did not know if it was because their wives were happy with their treatment and had hounded them into trusting her, talk around town that she successfully treated a drifter, or out of sheer desperation. Whatever the reason, she was pleased. Still, it would be nice when she was busier. Thus the trip to Emeryville was a welcome distraction.

As she stepped off the train, she looked around for Dr. Harris, but did not see him anywhere. She was carrying her doctor’s bag in one hand and her carpet bag in the other, as her fellow physician asked her to stay over until the next day and offered to pay for a room in the hotel.

Suddenly her right elbow was taken by a handsome looking man, in a well-cut suit, his dark hair slicked back, and eyeglasses perched on his nose. His dark eyes twinkled in the sunlight.

“So glad to see you Dr. Scott! Dr. Harris sent me over to meet you, since he’s of course busy with patients. Here let me take your bag.”

She almost gasped as she met those chocolate brown eyes and let him take her carpet bag. “Mr….”

“Rembacker,” he smiled and a dimple showed. “Remember, Doctor?” He slowed a bit as they cleared the train station and put out his arm for her to take. “Would you like to go to the hotel first, to freshen up, or straight to Dr. Harris’ office?”

“Um…” Corabelle’s head was still spinning. What was Hannibal Heyes doing here? And why was he politely escorting her to Dr. Harris? 

“Perhaps the hotel first, to let you catch your breath?” Heyes smiled wryly at her as they headed towards that building.

“Um … Isn’t Dr. Scott expecting me?”

“Yes, but he’s, well, he’s a bit indisposed at the moment, so there isn’t a rush.” Heyes just looked straight ahead and with a determined step led her up to the counter of the hotel.

“This is Dr. Scott, who has a room reserved.” Heyes smiled widely at the clerk.

“Oh, yes, Mr. Rembacker.” The clerk about jumped to do his bidding, but eyed Corabelle, as if wondering what type of doctor she could be. “Room 210. Right up the stairs.” He held out the key to Heyes, but Corabelle took it.

“Thank you, sir.” She turned to start up the stairs, with Heyes following her. As she reached the correct room, she turned, stared him in the eyes, and held out her hand for her carpet bag. His smile faded a bit, but then it returned full force.

“You know where Dr. Harris’ office is?” he asked.

“Yes.” She paused. “Mr. Rembacker.”

A wicked glint came into his eyes. “See you there soon. There are a few patients waiting.”

“Oh, anything serious?” She was all professional doctor again.

“Nothing that can’t wait.” He strode down the hall, as if he owned the hotel, stopping at the top of the stairs to turn back and doff his hat. “Dr. Scott.” Then he was gone.

Once in the room Corabelle released a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She set her bags down, and collapsed somewhat into a chair, leaning her head against the back for a minute or two. Then she got up, took off her hat, and quickly freshened up her face and hands with the water in the pitcher. She patted her face dry and stared into the mirror.

“Into what mess have you landed yourself this time Corabelle Anne Scott?”

After she changed into a serviceable gray work dress, she pinned her hat back on, and headed towards the doctor’s office. As she approached she noticed several people sitting on the benches outside. There appeared to be a variety of ailments, from sniffles, to what looked like a burn to arthritis. 

As she made to open the door, one woman waiting said, “There’s a line, missy. You need to get to the end.”

“Oh.” Corabelle was a bit nonplussed, but then brought out her most officious manner, that she learned from some of the stuffy instructors at the medical school that had deigned to let her be admitted. “I am here to help Dr. Harris.”

Several of the people lined up nodded knowingly and the woman desisted. Corabelle realized they probably thought she was a nurse but took advantage of this shift in opinion and entered the surgery. The Kid was sitting with Dr. Harris, handing him a cup of steaming black coffee.

“Mr. Curry, I’ve already had two cups. I doubt very much if another will make any difference,” Harris vehemently complained.  
“Heyes told me you needed to be competent enough to clear out this line of folks, so that’s what I’m doin’.” 

Harris then looked up as Corabelle closed the door behind her. “Thanks goodness the cavalry is here! Please, Scott, help me!” he pleaded.

Corabelle stopped in front of her colleague and looked him up and down. His bandage seemed clean and kept up, but the rest of him looked a bit seedy as always. She could still smell the alcohol on his breath.

“You know the drinking will not speed your recovery,” she chastised him.

“Oh, Scott, not you too …” He started to turn away, but then turned back. “It helps with the pain.”

“I wouldn’t worry about the pain you already have, Doc,” the Kid’s glacial blue stare met Dr. Harris’ rather blurry gaze. Curry then turned towards Corabelle. “You think he’s gonna be of any help to you, clearing out that line o’ folks?”

Corabelle stepped up to Harris, and started examining him, looking into his eyes, feeling his pulse, and taking out her stethoscope, insisted on listening to his heartbeat. It was just a little fast and she assumed he could handle the simple cases.

With the help of Kid Curry, she and Dr. Harris did indeed clear out all of the minor cases, as well as dealing with a couple of more serious, longer term ailments. She left Mr. Butterfield with the arthritis to Dr. Harris and took Mrs. Mettleman into the back office.

“You know if you keep having children so often, there will come a pregnancy that you won’t survive,” Corabelle said softly, tidying up some of her instruments, as the woman dressed after her examination. She was somewhere in her sixth month and looked exhausted. She left her six older children with their grandmother, but the youngest, barely a year old, was playing quietly on the floor.

“And you can’t continue to nurse this one, or this will be your last time.”

“But I can’t tell my husband no.” Mrs. Mettleman looked astonished at the suggestion.

Corabelle sighed. “What about when you don’t feel well, when you have a headache, or maybe your monthly. What do you do then?”

“Well, of course, Michael knows I can’t then.” She paused. “But I can’t lie to him.”

“No, of course not,” Corabelle shook her head, but sighed again. “But take that chart I wrote out, and remember what I said about that big river in Africa, where the rains make everything fertile?”

Her patient nodded.

“Just tell him you’re not feeling up to it, those few days, when the Nile floods.” Corabelle smiled encouragingly. “Tell him you’re tired. That would be the truth, wouldn’t it?”

Mrs. Mettleman nodded again but looked like she was not quite certain she agreed. “I’ll try.”

“That’s all I ask.” Corabelle turned to pick up a packet of tea. “And remember what I said about fresh vegetables and fruit. And drink this tea, once a day. It should help you feel better.”

“It ain’t one of them savage remedies?” Mrs. Mettleman asked.

“No, this comes from Europe.” Corabelle did not explain that it was the gypsy midwives she met in Philadelphia who first suggested the strengthening tea.

Mrs. Mettleman nodded and gathered up her youngest. She then looked a bit embarrassed. “Doc Harris often lets me pay in kind.” She paused. “My Michael makes moonshine that the Doc is partial to.” She pulled a couple of mason jars out of her bag. One had the clear look of alcohol, but one was filled with what looked like preserves.

“Don’t worry, Mrs. Mettleman. Dr. Harris and I will have to come to some terms about all the people I’ve seen today. However, I’ll take the, are they raspberry preserves?”

Her patient nodded and held out the jars. “Made them myself.”

Corabelle took both. “I’ll leave the drink, for Dr. Scott, as he has much more use for that than I would.”

The ladies both smiled, somewhat blushing, but then headed out to the waiting area.

“Remember all I said, Mrs. Mettleman.”

The woman nodded and headed down the street to gather her brood from her mother-in-law.

“Are you filling her head with all your Eastern nonsense?” Carl Harris asked.

“Oh, most definitely, Dr. Harris,” Corabelle could not help but smile at the baleful look on his face.

“Now I’ll have to deal with it all.” He shook his head.

“I’m hoping you will have less with which to deal, but that remains to be seen.” She sighed and shook her own head, while looking around at the empty waiting room. “Were those all the patients?” She looked confused. “You couldn’t deal with those on your own?”

“What do you mean, Dr. Scott?” Harris had his own look of confusion on his face. “I thought you came over here, because you didn’t have enough patients in Sand Creek.”

Corabelle wrinkled her brow. “You telegraphed me to come and help.”

“I did not,” Scott insisted. “Why would I need help dealing with the grippe and hangnails?”

“Well, you did have quite a few patients waiting,” Corabelle started.

“I was the one who telegraphed you,” Hannibal Heyes came in from the back door, still looking dapper in his tailored suit, and hair swept back. The spectacles were however no longer on his nose and he was leading in a group of men. “You can start with Stretch McSween here. He’s got this rash on his arm we can’t get rid of. Makes him scratch at inopportune times.” Heyes scowled at the man who just shrugged. 

“No offense, Mr. Heyes, but we can’t have Dr. Scott looking at your men. They’re, well,” Harris paused.

“Outlaws?” Heyes smiled and turned to his cousin who had been securing the front door. “She did just fine with the Kid here and his broken arm. I figure it shouldn’t take much for her to deal with these boys’ problems.”

“You brought me here?” Corabelle turned toward Heyes, who just met her annoyed gaze with his brilliant smile.

“I figured you didn’t want us to bring them all into Sand Creek.” His penetrating look met hers. “Might have caused some questions there. Here, with Doc Harris laid up until now, a line of folks was to be expected.”

“Yes,” she had to concede. “It was probably for the best.” She turned towards McSween, but Harris stopped her.

“I can look at this one, never know what these boys have been into,” he grumbled.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Doc,” Heyes said to Harris. “You looked at Stretch a couple months back. The salve you gave him helped calm the itching some, but it just keeps coming back.” He glanced over towards Corabelle. “Figured we needed a second opinion. Thought maybe Dr. Scott had another of her Sioux creams that might be tried.” He smiled at Corabelle and then nodded towards the next man in line. 

“You can take Kyle here. He’s got a boil, that well, it might be best you look at, on account of where it is.”

Kyle had been smiling, but then started to look embarrassed, and lowered his eyes to the floor.

Harris grumbled, but herded Kyle towards one room, looking back towards Heyes. “I would still suggest you or Mr. Curry stay with Dr. Scott, while she is treating your men.”

“Oh, of that I will agree, Dr. Harris,” Heyes was all smiles again, and turning towards Corabelle, continued, “If the good doctor will let me observe, we might be able to handle some of these problems on our own in the future.” 

He waved Stretch into the front examining room and followed in after Corabelle. He turned back to Curry before he shut the door. “Keep them behavin’ out here.”

“Always,” the Kid answered, taking a chair next to the front door, and peering briefly around the curtain there. “No worries here, Heyes.”

The remainder of the afternoon and into the evening, Corabelle and Carl Harris dealt with some rather typical ailments, of their rather atypical patients. The boys of Devil’s Hole were on their best behavior, with the sharp tongue of Hannibal Heyes, and the well-polished gun of Kid Curry, very much in evidence. Corabelle had the feeling that even without, the boys would have still, for the most part, been cooperative and polite, especially with Corabelle, and even with the grumbling Harris. Heyes and Curry were known to run Devil’s Hole efficiently, and not put up with any unnecessary violence, during robberies, or their forays in towns for other reasons.

The Kid did triage well, sending in the patients in a logical order, until all but one was dealt with and shuffled back out the rear door.

Henry Jenkins was sitting on the bench in the waiting room, as Corabelle and Heyes came out after finishing with their last patient.

“Jenkins go on in and get settled. I need a word with Dr. Scott about another matter. We’ll be in shortly.” He smiled as Jenkins did what he asked. He closed the door behind him and turned back towards Corabelle and the Kid with a grim face.

“It was Jenkins here that I wanted you to look at the most. He’s got a scratch on his arm that won’t heal.” Heyes grimaced. “I’m afraid it’s gonna go sceptic.” Heyes caught Corabelle’s eyes. “Anything you can do?”

Corabelle nodded. “There’s a couple of things we can try. They might seem strange, but I’m assuming you tried all the regular options.”

Heyes nodded. “We did our best to keep it clean, but well, that’s not always possible.”

“Have you tried carbolic acid?” Corabelle asked and Heyes shook his head. “It will hurt, but we’ll try that first. Then there is this ancient method from Egypt, that uses a moldy bread poultice, that might be the best long term.”

“Moldy bread?” the Kid scoffed.

“Yes, it’s surprising, but I’ve seen it work.” 

Heyes shrugged and motioned for Corabelle to proceed him into the exam room. “That’s why we brought him. I was certain you’d have some more ideas.” He cleared his throat. “Didn’t want to just give up on him.”

“No, Mr. Heyes, I’m certain you didn’t.”

With Jenkins dealt with, and back to the hotel with a couple of the other boys, Corabelle repacked her own instruments into her bag, and was tidying up Dr. Scott’s exam room, when Heyes popped his head in.

“We are taking Dr. Harris over to the café before it closes and would be mighty pleased if you’d accompany us.” His dark eyes glowed in the gloaming. She couldn’t resist his smile.

“Since it will be a group, and with one of my colleagues, it should be acceptable, but,” Corabelle paused. “Will it be safe for you and Mr. Curry?”

“We always try to treat the folks of Emeryville well, so they tend to welcome us back. They are used to us visiting with Doc Harris.”

Corabelle paused. “Will word get back to Sand Creek?”

“Perhaps just that you had dinner with the infamous Dr. Harris, and a couple of his friends, but nothing more.” Heyes held out his arm for her to take as said doctor came out of the back hallway followed by Kid Curry.

“That, dear woman, may actually not be the best for your reputation in Sand Creek,” Harris smiled wryly.

“Of that I am already well aware,” Corabelle laughed. “The good city fathers of Sand Creek already warned me that Dr. Harris was not the most reputable.”

Harris looked a bit annoyed, shaking his head.

Corabelle smiled and shrugged. “I informed them that as a professional courtesy, I did have to maintain relationships with the neighboring doctors, respectable or not.”

Heyes laughed and led the party across the street to the café.


	4. Chapter 4

The summer faded into brilliant autumn, but Corabelle saw nothing more of the Devil’s Hole Gang. Her practice in Sand Creek started to flourish. She was hoping it was that the town had become more comfortable with their female doctor, but also realized it might just be the coming of the cold weather and increased occurrence of the grippe.

She helped many of the townsfolk through the dread illness, but unfortunately a few succumbed, despite her valiant efforts. She worried that this would turn the town against her. However, she came to see that they were appreciative of what she was able to do and did not blame her for what was beyond human help. As Mrs. McCoy told her, when she sat crying at old man Tanton’s funeral, she had been able to nurse many more folks through the illness than their last doctor. 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Doctor,” Alma McCoy patted her hand as they sat together at the luncheon afterwards. “We don’t want you to make yourself ill, or who will be there to continue to take such good care of us all?” She snorted. “Surely not that drunk over to Emeryville.”

“But Dr. Harris really is a good doctor,” Corabelle started as she dabbed her eyes.

“I’m certain he can be, Doc, but we’re sure glad to have you here.”

It was a couple of weeks later, as most of the cases in town had been resolved, that a knock to her back door came after dark fell one night. She just sat down to her supper of stew that Mrs. McCoy sent over. She sighed. Mrs. McCoy was a much better cook than she was and she was disappointed to see the stew go to waste. Usually when someone came this late, it was an emergency. She’d be lucky to get back before midnight, to a cold supper of bread and cheese.

She hurried down the back stairs, and cautiously for her, asked a question, before she opened the door.

“This is Dr. Scott. Is someone needing my services?”

“Yeah, Doc,” a voice she remembered all too well answered. “It’s Mr. Hotchkiss.”

She unlocked the door, and there stood Kid Curry, the silver on his hat and the blue of his eyes, reflecting in the light of the lamp she held. She looked behind him for his usual partner in crime, but he appeared alone, other than his horse who was tied to the back-porch railing.

“Come in out of the cold.”

Curry sidled past her in the narrow hallway, as she relocked the door behind him. In the closeness, she realized for the first time that not only was he a former patient, but a rather tall, well-muscled man, who had a six-gun tied to his leg. She took a deep breath, but then met his eyes boldly, returning to her professional persona.

“You do not look unwell, Mr. Curry.” She paused. “Is it something for which we need to go into the examination room?” She continued to tell herself that, while she had never been alone with this man before, especially not in the dark of the night, he had always been a perfect gentleman. Still, she was having a difficult time keeping her heart rate down. This was Kid Curry after all, one of the most notorious gunmen in the West.

“No, ma’am, it’s not me I’ve come about.” He rubbed his hands together, still encased in their leather gloves, as if the ride had chilled him. “It’s Heyes.”

Corabelle half turned back to the door. “I did not see anyone else with you.”

“No,” Curry recaptured her attention and she turned to meet his eyes again. His face was somber, but he rubbed his hands along his arms, to further warm himself. “Heyes is still back at the Hole.”

“You need some advice?” Corabelle asked. She was confused and it seemed like that state was just increasing.

“Not exactly, ma’am.” He actually shivered.

“How long have you been out riding in that cold?”

“I stopped at Emeryville.”

“You’ve come from Devil’s Hole?”

He nodded, still shivering.

“Come on upstairs. We need to get you warm.” She raised her arm towards him, indicating the way back up the stairs.

He met her eyes, with something very readable in his.  
She blushed. “Now, Mr. Curry, after such a ride, I doubt if even you have any energy for anything other than sitting in front of the stove and helping me finish off the warm stew I have waiting up there.” She sidled past him in the hall and started strongly up the stairs. “And telling me what is so wrong with Mr. Heyes that you came out on this bitterly cold night.”

Soon enough, she had Kid Curry sitting with her at her kitchen table, with him in the chair closest to the potbelly stove, and a quilt around his shoulders. After he finished off a bowl of stew and two cups of coffee, she again broached the subject that brought him there.

“I assume that if Mr. Heyes is ill enough to bring you out on such a night, we’d best start discussing his symptoms.”

Curry nodded, his curls catching the lamplight. “He has the grippe.”

“We’ve had quite a few cases of it here too,” Corabelle agreed. “He’s a strong man. I’m certain he’ll recover soon.”

“He’s had it for a month.” The Kid did not meet her eyes. “I think he’s been getting worse. His cough, well it sounds like it’s rattling his whole body.”

Pneumonia. Corabelle did not meet the Kid’s eyes either. She had kept most of the townsfolk of Sand Creek from slipping into that dread condition, but not all. She saved one of them, but not the other.

“What have you all tried with Mr. Heyes?” she asked softly.

“Everything Doc Harris suggested.”

“You talked to him when you stopped in Emeryville?”

The Kid nodded. “Didn’t figure he’d have any suggestions we hadn’t thought of,” a dry smile crossed his face. “Gave me a chance to warm up and get a cup of coffee, before I continued on here.”

Corabelle took a deep, steadying breath and continued. “Well, there are a few other things I can suggest, including one powder I can give you, but often it will simply be how strong the constitution of the patient is to fight back.”

The Kid nodded slowly, and seemed to hunch in on himself a bit, before he too took a deep breath and met her eyes. “That’s the problem, Doc. I think the pneumonia’s winning. He’s been getting weaker. It’s why I came.”

Corabelle held his eyes, trying to let him know her professional opinion, without having to state it out loud. She saw that he was well aware of it already.

“Doc Harris told me there wasn’t anything he could do.” The Kid’s voice was harsh, but quiet, as if he knew Carl Harris had told him nothing but the truth. He looked up to Corabelle, his face showing no emotion, but a plea was in his eyes.

“I can give you some suggestions, the things I tried here.” She turned to grab a pad of paper and pencil, but the Kid stopped her, briefly touching her arm.

“I would like to take you back to Devil’s Hole.” His face was still, but again his eyes pleaded.

“Mr. Curry,” Corabelle took a deep breath.

“It’s just Kid,” he interrupted. “Ain’t no one ever called me Mr. Curry. That was my pa.”

“Well, I can’t call you Kid.” Corabelle shook her head. “What is your given name? I’m afraid I don’t know.”

“Jed. Jedediah Thaddeus Curry.”

“Well, then Jedediah.” She put her hand on his arm. “It will still depend mainly on the strength your friend has, regardless of what is tried.”

“There’s something we’re missing,” the Kid insisted. “Heyes, he ain’t one to catch the grippe. Don’t remember the last time he did. Even as a kid.”

“It’s been particularly bad this year,” Corabelle shook her head, and then stopped, looking at Kid Curry. “You said even as a child, he didn’t catch the grippe. You knew him as a child?”

Curry nodded briefly. “We grew up together. He’s my cousin.” He looked down before Corabelle could be certain, but she thought she saw his eyes glistening. He took a deep breath and met her eyes. “He’s the only family I have left. Just can’t lose him.”

Corabelle held his eyes, until she was certain he had told her nothing but the truth. She sighed and got up to put the dishes in the dry sink.

“I don’t know if we’ll make it through the cold of the night,” she looked back at him.

He shook his head. “No ma’am, you won’t.” He looked up at her with a sliver of hope. “Would you be ready to ride at first light?”

She simply nodded.

Jed Curry had picked up some men’s clothing for her when he stopped in Emeryville, which he insisted she wear. Even with the two pairs of long underwear, boots and heavy winter coat, she could not feel her hands in the thick leather gloves by the time they returned to Emeryville. Curry left her in a stand of trees, as he went in to check and see that Doctor Harris had no one in his office. He hurried her in the back door, without knocking as if he owned the place. In her cold state, she wondered if they did.

“Now, you boys can run roughshod over an old drunk like me,” Dr. Harris began. “But you can’t take this woman out in this bitter cold and definitely not to Devil’s Hole!” He handed Corabelle a cup of strong, hot coffee, and turned back to continue his harangue to Curry. “I thought you didn’t allow women.”

“Normally no. Heyes says they just cause problems.” The Kid looked down for a moment but then back up at Harris and then Corabelle. “But Heyes ain’t in any shape to object, so I’m making this decision.”

“She’ll freeze before you get there,” Harris continued.

“Is it windy in the canyon?” Corabelle asked, holding her cup out for a refill.

The Kid shook his head. “No, once you’re past Dead Man’s Point, it gets real still.”

“You’ll not come back,” Harris insisted.

“I left a note in my office that I was called away because my mother was ill.” Corabelle met Carl Harris’ gaze.

“You sleepin’ with one of them?” Harris’ voice became harsh. “That why you’re doing something this stupid? I thought you were better…”

Before Corabelle could even focus, Jed Curry had Carl Harris up against the wall of his office. “Don’t you ever again even hint that Doctor Scott is that type of woman.”

Harris gurgled, but his breath was forced out of him by the sudden move.

“Jedediah, that’s not necessary,” Corabelle insisted. She laughed dryly. “You and I know it’s true that I’ve just been your physician and this is just wasting time.” She started buttoning up her coat again. “We best get going if we are to still make it today, correct?”

Curry took a deep breath, released Dr. Harris, and nodded, starting to button his coat too.

“Scott, before you leave,” Dr. Harris tried one more time. “What do you think you can do if he has pneumonia?”

“I have a sovereign remedy that the Egyptians have used.”

“That old wives’ tale?”

“It has worked.”

“It’s expensive as hell.”

She nodded, but then looked at Kid Curry. “Yes, but I imagine if I give them my source, the Devil’s Hole Gang can manage to get me another supply.”

“You’re insane, you know that, don’t you, Dr. Scott?”

Corabelle looked over to Kid Curry and saw the growing desperation in his face. “Maybe so, Dr. Harris, but I have to try.”

By the time Kid Curry released the three gunshots at Dead Man’s Point, Corabelle could not feel her feet. She kept moving them, to try at least to feel the pins and needles, but that stopped some while back.

It was wonderful when the canyon enfolded them and the wind stopped buffeting them. Corabelle just let her horse follow the Kid’s and drowsed in her saddle, until suddenly the narrow trail opened into a rather large valley, containing several buildings of various sizes, a couple of them billowing smoke from their chimneys. 

The Kid led her directly to the cabin in the center, and lifting her off her horse, simply carried her through the front door. He set her in a chair next to the pot belly stove and then gave orders to have her bags brought in and the horses taken to the barn.  
As feeling came back into her hands, he put a glass of whiskey in her hand.

“A cup of coffee might be better,” she said.

“It’ll be too hot for your hands, just yet,” he replied.

She looked up at him, wondering how often he made a ride like this. His eyes were still as a blue lake as he took a deep drink out of his glass and waited for her to do the same.

As she warmed up and started to peel layers off, she heard the coughing. Even without examining him, she knew it had progressed into pneumonia. As soon as she felt she could walk, she went into his bedroom and started an examination.

“You know he has broken ribs, don’t you?” she asked the Kid when she finally came back out.

“Broken ribs?” The look on the Kid’s face said no.

“Sometimes it comes from the coughing, but I think they were broken before,” Corabelle looked thoughtful. “Had he been doing anything strenuous? Dangerous?” The words came out of her mouth before she thought them through.

The Kid laughed almost silently. “Yeah, he was.” He looked at Corabelle, as if daring her to ask, but then he relented. “He was knocked off his horse.”

“How long ago?”

“Right before he came down with the grippe.” Curry’s face turned thoughtful. “We were wet through, coming back to the Hole, the last time. I figured it was that. He hadn’t complained.”

“He might have thought it was just a strain.” She started measuring some powder.

“No, he’s broken ribs before. He should have known.”

She paused and looked up at Kid Curry. “I’m surprised you don’t have a doctor here full time.”

“Heyes would if he could.”

“Dr. Harris?”

Curry shook his head. “He’s good when we have something bad, like a,” he paused. “Gun shot or broken bone. He can deal with those, drunk or sober, due to his time in the war. But something like the grippe, he’s not good with.”

“Did you take Mr. Heyes to Dr. Harris after he fell?”

“No, he said he was fine.” The Kid shook his head.

“Well, we’ll wrap him for the broken ribs and try the sovereign remedy.” She looked up at the Kid. “Do you have some alcohol? The purer the better.”

“Yeah, I think Preacher has some moonshine,” he said helpfully.

She nodded. “We’ll need it.”

Curry went out briefly and brought it back.

She mixed it and said, “Let’s get this into him. It will probably help for him to have it before we try to bind up his ribs.”

The Kid nodded.

Heyes’ eyes were fever bright. “You brought Dr. Scott. Here.” He went into a coughing spasm and it took both Corabelle and the Kid to hold him.

“Drink this,” she ordered.

He scowled and coughed again. When this fit was over, he was exhausted. Corabelle let the Kid hold him propped up, while she arranged pillows behind him.

“What is it?” he asked almost whispering.

“It’s made from moldy bread,” she looked him in the eye.

“Like the poultice?”

She nodded and held it out for him to drink. He grimaced but got it all down before he coughed again. Sweat dripped from his face, even while she could feel him shiver from chills.

“We need to get your ribs taped.”

“Heyes, why didn’t you tell me?” the Kid asked quietly, not expecting an answer, but Heyes did scowl at him, only to receive a scowl in return.

“Mr. Curry, can you hold him like this? Then we can get off his undershirt and wrap him?”

The Kid nodded.

It took three days before Hannibal Heyes showed any improvement and a week before Corabelle was convinced he was going to live. Kid Curry hovered, trying to stay out of the way, but always there whenever she needed anything.

On those nights where he insisted she rest, he gave her his bed, and he sat up all night with Heyes, listening to his breathing, and promising her that he would wake her, if he noticed any difference.

It was on the morning of the fourth day, that she found him smiling by his friend. 

“He’s breathing easier, ain’t he, Doc?” He had such a look of hope and desperation in his face, that she was very glad she could answer in the affirmative.

They continued to put him in a steam tent, which further eased his breathing, and by the end of that week, Heyes actually started to talk again.

“I swear, Heyes, it’s been the quietest month I’ve ever known, with you not talking.” The Kid’s blue eyes started to regain their sparkle. Corabelle insisted he also rest, stating that she did not want to have saved Heyes’ life only to have the Kid come down with the grippe.

It was two days later, that the Kid came in after a meeting with some of the other boys at the Hole and pulled Corabelle out of Heyes room. 

“Old Horace McSween says the snow will be coming in a day or two.” The Kid was looking down, but then met Corabelle’s eyes. “He’s never been wrong about when the Hole will get snowed in. If you don’t leave by tomorrow, you’ll be here all winter.”

“Oh.” She looked back to Heyes.

“I’ll need to stay with him,” the Kid stated.

She nodded, “Yes, of course.”

“I’ll send Preacher with you to take you back.” The Kid’s eyes pleaded with her to agree. “He won’t give you any trouble.”

She shook her head, “No, he won’t.” The Preacher had been in and out of the leader’s cabin in the last week, helping as he could. He indeed seemed the least objectionable, and most reliable, as long as the Kid kept the liquor away from him.

“Don’t let Doc Harris give him a drink.” The Kid’s eyes were steely.

“I think I can get back from Emeryville on my own.” She returned his gaze.

“Shouldn’t have to.”

“No, I shouldn’t, but I can.”

He nodded. “You have Doc Harris order some more of that sovereign remedy from Egypt, for you, and give him this. The Kid handed her a heavy bag. She hesitated. “I know you’ll need some before we can get out of here to order it for you.” She just nodded.

Christmas came and went quietly for Corabelle Scott. Walking to church services was beautiful in the crisp winter air and Mrs. McCoy insisted that she join them for Christmas dinner. Whenever the train could make it through the snow drifts to town, Corabelle usually received several issues of her medical journals in a bunch. She would ration them out, to make them last through the bright, but short days. It was in January that she received a box from an import company, from whom she did not remember ordering. She opened it and found ten times the amount of sovereign remedy that she had used on Hannibal Heyes.


	5. Chapter 5

Spring finally came to Sand Creek. There had been another death from the grippe before winter released its hold and the poor Verdigris baby was lost to whooping cough. Corabelle’s soul had taken on a dark tint, until Mrs. McCoy insisted on helping her plant her spring garden. Getting her hands in the warming earth and seeing the first green shoots helped Corabelle’s mood, but then she just became anxious for more activity. She went to the school house one day a week to help teach science and joined a quilting bee with Mrs. McCoy. She could not always make it to these events, based on who was sick and who needed stitches, but she tried.

The gloaming had just settled on the little town, one spring evening, when it finally smelled like winter had released its last tendrils. Corabelle had just finished a supper of scrambled eggs and toast with boysenberry jam, when a knock came upon her back door. Her heart skipped a beat. It could be another of the Ames boys needing stitches or a stomach powder, but Mr. Ames usually tried to bring them before darkness fell.

She hurried down the stairs, but the pounding came again, before she could get the door open.

“Doctor Scott!” 

She opened the door to a very frantic Hannibal Heyes. He turned, and with the help of the Preacher, half carried, half drug Kid Curry into her examination room. Blood pooled on the porch during their brief stop there and now dripped all the way down her hallway. She stared at it briefly, shook her head, and called out to the other man waiting by the horses. She tossed him a rag and bucket.

“Clean up the porch before anyone sees, please.” She turned back inside and shut the door, hurrying to see what the boys from Devil’s Hole brought her this time.

Two hours later found her resting on the chase lounge in her sitting room, sharing a glass of wine with Hannibal Heyes. After removing the bullet and stitching up Kid Curry, she had him resting in her guest bedroom, with a poultice of carbolic acid on his wound.

She had a patient room downstairs next to the examination room, but both she and Hannibal Heyes decided it would be safer if the Kid was resting somewhere out of the view of anyone who came to visit Doctor Scott.

It took both Preacher and Lobo, as well as Heyes to gently get the Kid up the stairs. Corabelle was extremely happy that they managed not to rip open any of the stitches in the process. Heyes sent the other gang members back to Devil’s Hole and settled his and the Kid’s horses in the barn, where Corabelle kept her horse.

Heyes of course stayed with the Kid.

“You seem tired, Doctor.”

“I think Mr. Heyes, that you could call me Corabelle after all we’ve been through.” She sat back down at the dining table after checking on his partner, picking at the omelet cooling on her plate.

“I wasn’t certain if that would be respectful.” His eyes were serious.

“Mr. Heyes, I’ve seen parts of you and Mr. Curry, that even your wives may never see.”

“That’s certainly true.” He paused and an impish grin slid across his face. “Corabelle. If I have the privilege of calling you by your given name, you need to drop the Mister. It’s just Heyes.”

“Not Hannibal?” She smiled.

“No.” He smiled back, but his eyes were hard.

“I call Mr. Curry Jedediah.”

“He’s nicer than I am.”

“So I’m just supposed to call you Heyes?”

“Yes.”

“I am too tired to ask why.” She pushed the heels of her hands against her eyes. 

“You need to rest.” He reached out to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and she rested her head in the crook of his neck.

“You and Jedediah must get tired too, of the life you’re leading.”

“Sometimes.” He closed his eyes, exhaustion showing on his face also. “But we’ve not found a way out.”

“So you’ll keep coming to me to patch you up?”

“If you’re willing.”

She simply nodded and they both rested.


	6. Chapter 6

It was just impossible to keep the sand out.

It came in under the door and through the windows. She was constantly sweeping. Even here where she had a girl who came to help, it took both of them to keep the waiting room and examination room clean.

“Betty, isn’t it time for you to go home for supper?” Corabelle asked.

“Let me finish sweeping once more, Dr. Scott,” the young woman replied. Her dark hair and skin seemed covered by the sand in the haze of the late afternoon sun, even though Corabelle knew that Betty managed a bath more often than Corabelle herself.

The heat and the dust both seemed like they had permeated her brain, since she arrived this spring. Coral Sands was just across the border from Mexico. Corabelle often thought about going to Mexico, but always found herself too busy to make the trip.

“What will you be having for supper, Dr. Scott?” Betty asked, as she put away her broom and hung up her apron. It had been fresh this morning, and would do for another day, since the did not have patients with major issues today.

“I’ll need to use the eggs Mrs. Blackstone brought. That and a tortilla or two, will be enough for me.” In the heat, nothing kept. 

“I can bring you some chicken flautas that Madre is making tonight,” Betty replied, looking concerned. She had the healthy rounded look of a beautiful young girl.

Corabelle knew she did not. She felt like she was drying up and wasting away, here in this dry, hot climate. It was also the fifth place to which she had moved, in not many more years. Even here in the West, men liked women in their place, and that usually was not doctoring them. Every time she thought she had found a permanent home, something happened. Either she couldn’t save the right person, or she knew she just didn’t fit the town, or the wanderlust that had permeated her soul since her mother had passed would rear its ugly head and she’d be on to the next town.

As she knew little else to be able to keep herself, she kept moving, and kept doctoring those who would let her. It did not earn her much more than what she needed for her practice and to keep herself, but it still did occasionally give her great satisfaction, when she could save the life of someone who would have otherwise died.

She squinted out into the setting sun. “No, Betty, I need to use the eggs.” She smiled back at the young woman. “I’ll be fine.”

Betty did not look convinced, but finally nodded and walked out into the glowing evening.

After she left, Corabelle locked the front doors and pulled down the shades on the windows. It lessened the blinding light of the red sun. She turned to walk up the stairs to her rooms but found she did not have the energy or the need. She was not really hungry in the heat. Perhaps when the evening cooled some, she would feel more like eating.

She did not know how long she sat on the steps leading up, but the sun had almost disappeared, and only a russet glow was still visible around the shades in the front windows of her surgery. With a deep sigh, she finally stood, straightened her shirtwaist, and turned to finally make a start up the stairs.

A knocking came at her back door. She smiled, remembering a time at Sand Creek, when excitement burst through her life. She then sighed and headed back, thinking it was simply one of the townsfolk who did not want everyone to know of a particular complaint. She had more than a few evening visits over the years.

The knocking came again, more insistent this time, and a voice called out.

“Doc, sorry to bother you so late...”

She knew that voice.

Her hands shook as she fumbled with the door lock, but then her eyes confirmed what her brain refused to believe.

There stood Jedediah Curry, trying to smile convincingly at her while desperately trying to hold up his partner Hannibal Heyes.

She smelled the telltale scent of blood.

“Doc Scott.” The Kid did not seem surprised.

“Hurry, Mr. Curry, and bring him in.”

Between the two of them they got Heyes on the examination table.

“Hold him please, so we can get his shirt off to see what we need to fix this time.”

“Sure, Doc.”

Heyes groaned as his arm moved a way it did not want to. “Watch it.” He managed to summon a glower first at the Kid and then at Corabelle, even though his eyes had taken on the glassy look of blood loss. “I ain’t quite out of it enough for you all to be jostling me so much.”

“Well, then put that silver tongue to good use and tell me where it hurts,” Cora used her most officious voice back at Heyes and received another glare. It did distract him, as she intended. She and Curry stripped him from the waist up and she already had a good idea of the bullet’s trajectory. Luckily it looked like it passed through. Unfortunately, that meant he lost a lot of blood from the entrance and exit wounds. She had him lay down on his right side and started to work.

An hour later she had made certain the wounds were clear of debris, stitched up, and bound with carbolic cloths. He did not want the morphine, but eventually passed out from the pain, as well as contributing blood loss. When he rested long enough for the pain to wake him again, she would see if they could get him upstairs. 

It did not appear that any of their gang members were with them, but Corabelle was not really surprised. She had not heard of any recent exploits of either Curry and Heyes or the Devil’s Hole Gang. She decided they must have finally pulled a big enough job to disappear in Mexico, or South America. She was certain she would have heard the news if they had been captured or killed.

After checking his vital signs once more, and making an attempt to straighten her surgery, she looked over to Kid Curry, who was trying to help her clean up. He looked trail weary and exhausted.

“Mr. Curry, I believe we both require a medicinal dose, before we can continue with this work. She pulled her keys from her pocket and unlocked a cabinet. Pulling a brandy bottle off of a shelf, she closed it back up.

“There are glasses in the front room and comfortable chairs.” She glanced at Heyes again. He breathing was shallow, but regular. “Mr. Heyes will be fine while we sit for one minute.”

The Kid looked like he was going to object, with the last shred of energy he possessed.

“No, arguments.” She came to stand in front of him, looking up into those blue eyes. His gaze was steady, as it always was, but she could see exhaustion in their depths. “Doctor’s orders.”

He finally nodded and turned slower than was his wont and initially perched on one of the chairs, sipping from the glass he held.

“I’m sorry I don’t have any whiskey,” she said as she sat in the other chair, leaning her head against the back, but not allowing her eyes to close.

Curry shook his head slightly. “No, a lady like you, probably wouldn’t have any whiskey.”

“On the contrary,” she smiled sharply. “I usually do. I just haven’t replenished my supply. I’ve found it often relaxes patients, when they are leery of other pain medications.” She paused. “Of course, one has to weigh the blood thinning effects of alcohol against the benefits…”

Even with his best efforts, Curry rested his head against the back of his chair too and looked like he was losing his battle with sleep.

“How did you know I was here?” she asked him before he could succumb.

“We didn’t.” He shook himself and met her eyes. “Heyes just got to the point where he needed a doctor and this was the nearest town.” He smiled faintly. “Could’ve knocked me over with a feather when the boys at the saloon told me the only doctor within thirty miles was a lady named Scott.”

“I’ve not heard about any robberies attributed to you two, or your gang, not for quite some time.” She kept his gaze, looking for truth.

The Kid shook his head. “No, we don’t do that anymore.”

“Seriously?”

He nodded.

“Then how did Mr. Heyes get shot?” She paused. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Posse,” Curry laughed dryly. “Just ‘cause we ain’t robbing anyone any more, don’t mean we still ain’t wanted.”

“Oh.” Corabelle watched as Jed finished his glass and set it on the table between them. She continued to sip at hers, until she was certain he was fast asleep. Then she went back to see how her other patient was doing.

She let the Kid sleep until Heyes woke again from the pain. After he agreed with the morphine this time, they managed to get him up the stairs, albeit not easily.

“Kid, you trying to bump me against the wall?” Heyes’ eyes were shut against the pain.

“Heyes, I’d suggest you just be quiet, or I’m certain the Doc won’t have any compunction to leave you outside for the coyotes. Or the posse, if we really haven’t lost them.”

“Well, now I know I’m either delirious or,” Heyes laughed, a bit frayed. “Well, I’m certain God ain’t sending me to heaven, but then there’s the lovely Dr. Scott.”

Corabelle felt his forehead for fever, as they settled him into her bed. He was running a slight temperature, but nothing willow bark would not contain. “Why do you think you’re delirious?” She met his fever bright eyes, and he summoned a smile for her, even if it was a weak interpretation of his usual wide one.

“’Cause the Kid used the word ‘compunction.’” His smile faded as his eyes fluttered shut. 

Corabelle checked his vital signs and sighed. She was not happy but was satisfied for now. She turned towards his partner leaning against the doorframe, looking like it was the only thing holding him up.

“How long have you been running?” she asked.

This Kid’s eyes opened slowly, but his face remained still. “From this posse, or in general?”

She smiled and led him out of the bedroom towards her chaise lounge. “I’m certain both stories would be entertaining, but for now, I’d just like to know this most recent time.” He resisted her attempts to sit him down, but she just glared at him, and he finally surrendered to his exhaustion.

“Four days,” the Kid shut his eyes, but she could still see tension in his body. He reopened them to stare into her eyes. “He was shot two days ago.”

“Two days?” she exclaimed. “And he’s still alive? You had him still running?”

“Corabelle.” It was the first time he ever called her by her given name. “We didn’t have a choice.”

“Is the posse still after you? Are they likely to show up here?”

“Possibly, but I think we finally lost them yesterday.” His eyes glittered with a fire. “Had to after they shot Heyes. Had to get him to a doc.” His eyes fluttered.

“I’m sorry, but I only have the one bed up here.” She grimaced. “The accommodations not the most, well, spacious.” They were spartan, at best. “Will you be all right there?”

The Kid opened up on eye. “As long as it’s off a horse and no one is shootin’ at me, I’m good.” His eyes shot open. “The horses!”

He ran down the stairs and out the door.

By the time he settled the horses in the barn behind Corabelle’s building, she had settled for the night in a chair and ottoman in the bedroom.

“Doc, I can keep watch and let you sleep out on the divan,” Curry tried to be chivalrous.

“No,” she shook her head, determined. “I want to watch him for the next few hours. You rest and then I will.”

“You certain?” The Kid looked like he would fall asleep on his feet.

“Yes.”

He finally nodded and turned towards the sitting room and the waiting couch. 

Corabelle drank a couple cups of tea, tried to read a medical journal, and even perused the latest copy of Godey’s Lady’s Book, that Mrs. Sievert lent her. She laughed. Not that she had the time or need to look at the new fashions from the East Coast. She laid it down and looked over to check on her patient again. His brown eyes looked back at her.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, croaking a bit. She helped him to take a sip of water.

“I could ask you the same thing.” She checked his vitals. The fever was still burning, but at acceptable levels.

“You were in Sand Creek.”

“That was years ago.” She smiled down at him, tiredly. “Where have you been?”

“Here in the West.”

She sat back down in the chair and studied him. “Jedediah said you aren’t robbing anymore.”

“No.” He closed his eyes.

“May I ask why?”

He turned and met her gaze. “Because we needed to stop. So we wouldn’t end up in prison. Or dead.”

“How has that been working for you so far?” She had a wry smile half hidden on her face.

“Not well.” He turned back and closed his eyes. “I couldn’t think of anything better.”

“Hannibal Heyes couldn’t come up with anything besides running around the West, getting shot?” Corabelle shook her head. “Do you two take turns?”

Heyes sighed. “Well, there’s more to it, but we aren’t at liberty to discuss it.”

She stared at him. “You two can’t be going for an amnesty.”

His face took on a hard cast. “And why not?”

“Who in their right mind will give Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry an amnesty?”

“Never thought most of the governors of Wyoming were really in their right mind.”

“Maybe more than you expected.” She paused. “I’ve not read that you’ve been granted amnesty.”

“No, we haven’t.” He closed his eyes again, and she let the conversation drop, knowing he needed to rest.

Movement in the other room caught her eye and soon enough Kid Curry was standing in the door.

“How is he?” the Kid asked Corabelle.

“I’m feeling better than when you drug me all over the state, trying to lose that posse,” Heyes groused.

“If you’re well enough to talk, well, we have something to discuss.” Curry’s face was glacially still.

“Oh?”

“I’m not certain we did lose the posse.”

Heyes closed his eyes again. “No, I imagine we gave them the slip for a while, but they had to have an Apache, following us for three days like they did.”

Corabelle raised her eyebrow. “Maybe they were just good at tracking.”

“No one’s that good,” Heyes said. “Unless they have an Apache.”

“A little egotistical about your skills, gentlemen?”

“No,” the Kid interjected quietly. “We are that good. We’ve had more practice than most.”

“It appears not quite enough.” She looked at them both. “What do you propose to do when they get here? Mr. Heyes cannot travel.”

“I’ve done it before,” Heyes started to lift himself up on the bed, but then collapsed back. Even then determination shown on his face. “We can’t compromise you.”

A dry laugh came from Corabelle. “Most men consider a female doctor treating men as compromised already.”

“We don’t want you to go to prison for aiding and abetting,” the Kid added quietly.

“Oh.” She looked from him to his partner. “That doesn’t change the medical fact that Mr. Heyes probably will die if you put him back on a horse. Either the stitches will pull out, or the infection…”

“Yes, we know that, Corabelle.” Heyes pondered. “Let me think.” He closed his eyes.

Corabelle quieted and looked at the Kid, who shrugged and continued to lean in the doorway. Obviously this was not anything new.

“We have to get some sort of disguise.” Heyes looked up at his partner. “And need a plausible story, that doesn’t compromise Dr. Scott here.”

“What sort of disguise?” Corabelle asked.

“One of the ranchers in the last town saw us on a train,” the Kid supplied. “That’s why they raised the posse.”

“You mean like I saw you on a train?” Corabelle asked. “During a robbery?”

Heyes nodded, but his mind was spinning. “If only we had other clothes.”

“I do,” Corabelle answered. She bit her lip, and looked like she wanted to continue, but did not.

“No, offense, Doc,” the Kid started. “But even if I wanted to wear a dress, I don’t think I could fit in anything you would have.”

“No. I have a trunk of men’s clothing. Some would probably fit each of you.” She looked from one to the other. “Have you ever worn your hair short? I think it would change your looks.”

“Why do you have a trunk of men’s clothes?” the Kid asked.

“They were my husband’s.” Corabelle got up and went to one of the trunks in the corner, to start to sort through it.

The boys exchanged a surprised glance. 

“When were you married, Doc?” the Kid ventured to ask.

Corabelle half turned but did not meet their eyes. She came back with some items. “He passed several moths ago.” She sorted out two piles. “I think these should fit.”

“When did you get married?” Heyes asked quietly.

She sat back down in the chair. “Two years ago I left Sand Creek. The mayor’s young son died of cholera. I managed to save most of the town, but not him.” Tears started to fall. “I just kept moving until I ran out of money. I ended up in Verde Vista, which already had a doctor, by the name of Phineas George.” She smiled. “He was a sweet man from Maine. He wanted a wife. It worked out.” She passed a hand over her eyes and took a breath. “Until he died getting shot. He ended up in the middle of a domestic dispute, tried to protect a woman from her husband.”

“Oh, Cora,” Heyes looked like he was going to get out of bed to comfort her, but she stood and held out her hand, touching his shoulder. It was enough for him to subside.

I’m going down for some clippers.” She didn’t face either of them. “Please try the clothes on while I am gone.” She fled.


	7. Chapter 7

It was two days later that the posse rode into Coral Sands. Betty heard the commotion as she was sweeping out the surgery and gazed out the front widows to watch them race by towards the sheriff’s office. She then turned to call up the stairs.

“Doctor, I think you better come down here.” Betty bit her lip. “Now.”

Corabelle Scott hurried down the stairs. She had been checking on her uncles, in her rooms above the surgery. Betty was surprised when she showed up for work one day and was introduced to the two older men who Dr. Scott informed her were relatives who came for a visit. 

Robert Hotchkiss, who with his tall stance and dapper suit, impressed and enthralled her, even with his bald head, and round spectacles hiding his brilliant blue eyes. He had little to say, and when he did it was in a soft, southern drawl. Corabelle said he had been a teacher.

She was then introduced to Dr. Scott’s other uncle, Michael Rembacker, as she helped take care of him. He too had lovely eyes, dark brown, but she could tell he was even older than Mr. Hotchkiss, since his thick hair was pure white, and his face was weathered by life. He was shot by a notorious outlaw, as they approached town, on their way to visit their niece. The story has sent shivers up Betty’s spine, as Mr. Rembacker recounted it to her.

“We were traveling down the road towards Coral Sands, looking forward to our visit with our lovely niece here.” He smiled indulgently towards Corabelle. “Night was starting to fall, but we knew we had quite a way to go. We were delayed because, Bob here,” he nodded towards Mr. Hotchkiss. “Was having problems with his horse.” Betty glanced towards the other man and thought she saw him roll his eyes, but then he just smiled at her as Mr. Rembacker continued his story.

“Bob, that is Mr. Hotchkiss, said his horse was contrary, but maybe it was just too strong of a horse for him…” 

Dr. Scott laid her hand on her Uncle Michael’s wrist, shook her head slightly, and smiled as she took his pulse. She looked over towards her other uncle, who was starting to look a bit annoyed, Betty noticed.

“Well, in any case, we had been slowed down enough, that night fell, and we were all alone on the road into town.” Mr. Rembacker paused. “When all of a sudden we were taken by surprise by two armed desperados.” His voice pitch raised. “They pointed guns at us and demanded our horses!”

He took a deep breath to settle himself, before he continued. “Now, Bob’s horse, we would have given them for free…” He glanced over at Robert Hotchkiss, who folded his arms against his chest, and glared at Mr. Rembacker. “But my horse was a thoroughbred from our farm down South, so I was reluctant to give him up.”

Betty was just starting to wonder why Mr. Rembacker did not have a southern accent too, when she remembered that Dr. Scott said he taught at a school up in New England. It seemed that while they were both her uncles, they came from different sides of the family. Betty started to wonder why neither of them were named Scott, when Mr. Rembacker continued, and caught her attention again.

“Well, wouldn’t you know it, but one of those outlaws up and shot me!” Mr. Rembacker’s astonishment at such uncivilized behavior was clear.

“Mike here then fell off his horse,” Robert Hotchkiss surprisingly had a small smile on his face as he continued the story. “As I got down to help him, they took both of our mounts, and left us with their worn-out animals.”

“That’s how we ended up here, with our poor niece having to take care of me, rather than having the nice visit we planned.” Mr. Rembacker’s face started to turn a bit gray, showing he had talked enough, so they all left him to rest.

Dr. Scott came up to the window and watched as the posse dismounted and Sheriff Waters came out to greet them. Her Uncle Robert stood slightly behind her, off to the side, where he could see out of the windows without being seen.

“Betty, you stay here and help Uncle Robert watch over Uncle Michael.” She turned to get her hat and bag.

“Corabelle,” Robert Hotchkiss started.

“No, Uncle Bob,” Dr. Scott put her hand on his suit jacket and looked up into those blue eyes behind his spectacles. “It would be best for me to go talk to the Sheriff, by myself.”

Robert Hotchkiss did not look happy, but finally nodded.

“Doctor Scott!” Sheriff Waters turned towards her as she approached. “I was just gonna send the deputy to get you.”

“I thought you might be needing me.” Corabelle stood straight and tall as she stopped by the sheriff’s side and smiled up at him. “Betty saw these gentlemen arrive in town.” She turned to meet the eyes of the leader of the posse.

“Sheriff Ward, ma’am.” He looked her up and down. “You the doc that Sheriff Waters here told me treated the outlaw?”

“Yes, sir.” She nodded confidently and did not break her gaze away as she started her tale. “They came to the back door of my surgery a couple nights ago, pounding on the door. When I unlocked it, they burst in…”

“You’re tellin’ me a lady doc, like yourself, lets men in late at night?”

“Well, Sheriff, I certainly did not expect it to be outlaws!” She took a deep breath, straightened her dress and continued. “It is not unexpected for the townsfolk to come to my back door with an emergency late at night. Of course, they are often upset, so the pounding on the door did not alert me to anything unusual.”

“So you let them in?” Sheriff Ward looked at her, with a skeptical glance.

“Of course not!” Corabelle pulled herself to her full height, but then let the sheriff see some of the fear currently in her soul. “As I said before, they burst in! One of them had his gun drawn already and demanded that I remove the bullet from his partner. Of course, I was shaking in my boots, but he pulled me into the surgery, and held his gun on me, so I did as he demanded.”

Sheriff Ward first shook his head, but then taking a deep breath, he nodded. “Well, missy, I guess, cain’t blame you for bein’ frightened for your life, and doin’ what they demanded.” His glance turned dark. “Probably wouldna gone well for you if you hadn’t agreed.”

“No, Sheriff, I do not imagine so.” Corabelle’s pinched face showed that she was not really happy with being called missy, but knew she needed to let it go.

“Sheriff Waters said your uncles ran into them too?” Ward looked skeptical again.

“Yes, Sheriff, as they were coming into town to visit me. The outlaws stole their horses and shot my Uncle Michael!” She shuddered. “I hate to imagine what else might have happened.”

“You have the outlaws’ horses in your barn?” Sheriff Ward asked.

“Yes,” Corabelle summoned some indignation. “The horses they stole were thoroughbreds, from our family farm!”

“So, they are on fast mounts?” one of the deputized men asked.

“Why, yes, I guess they are,” Corabelle stated, as if it just occurred to her.

“We’ll need to talk to your uncles, missy,” Sheriff Ward stated.

“It’s Dr. Scott, if’n you’d remember, Ward,” Sheriff Waters objected, starting to take offense at how the other lawman was treating their unconventional, but very capable, doctor. “They’re just a couple of old men. One bald as a cue ball and the other with more white hair than my granny. I talked to them when they came into town. They seemed right nice men. I don’t know as we need to bother them again, ‘specially with the doc’s Uncle Michael still recovering from bein’ shot.”

“Well, that might be, but is this one of them, comin’ down the street?”

Sheriff Waters and Corabelle turned towards where the other man was looking, and saw Robert Hotchkiss slowly hobbling down the street, leaning on a cane that Corabelle kept in her office, for those who might need it, and also being helped by Betty. The sun glinted off of Uncle Robert’s spectacles, as he made painfully slow progress.

“Heck, he’ll take all day.” Sheriff Ward started towards Hotchkiss and Betty.

“Well, Sheriff, as my uncle suffers from gout, he’s actually walking quite well now that I’ve been taking care of him…” Corabelle was talking rather loudly, as she approached her uncle.

“Greetings, Sheriff,” Robert Hotchkiss stopped, huffing a bit, his southern drawl purring. He was leaning on both his cane and Betty. His glasses glinted in the sun. “Have you apprehended those outlaws yet and retrieved our horses?”

“Well, no,” Sheriff Ward was taken back a bit. “Not yet.”

“Those were thoroughbred horses, sir, worth much more than those … nags they left us to ride into town.”

“Well, sir,” Ward tried to answer. “We’re workin’ on it.” He paused. “You have their horses still? Might give us some clues.”

“They are in my barn, Sheriff,” Corabelle answered. “Do you want to see them?”

“Yes, miss, um, Doctor Scott,” he answered. “If you please.” He looked over to her uncle, and Sheriff Waters, as both started to scowl.

“It’s this way.” Corabelle started off at a brisk pace, soon leaving her uncle behind.

“Um, Doc,” Sheriff Waters called out to Corabelle. “Maybe we should wait for your uncle.”

Robert Hotchkiss stopped someway behind them, puffing to catch his breath, and taking off his bowler hat, to fan his very bald head.

“Oh, Uncle, I’m so sorry!” She hurried back to him and took his arm. She then turned back to the sheriffs. “Please, sirs, just continue on to the barn and I’ll meet you there.” She smiled at her uncle fondly. “Eventually. I’ll see Uncle Robert back home first.”

“So they just left?” Heyes asked, somewhat astounded. “I let you bleach my hair for nothing?” He ran his hands through the snow-white mane of hair covering his head.

“Heyes, just be glad they didn’t bring the man who recognized us from the Williamsburg robbery.” The Kid shook his head. “I’m not certain even that hair would have fooled him.” He rubbed his hand over his scalp. “Just be glad that Corabelle didn’t suggest skinning both of us. I’m not looking forward to having Corabelle shave my scalp again.” He looked towards her. “No offense, Doc. You did a perfect job, just don’t want to tempt fate.”

“I’ve always had a steady hand with a scalpel,” she replied, trying to look offended, but then just smiled at the boys. “In any case, it fooled Sheriff Waters enough that he convinced the posse to look elsewhere.” She looked down at Heyes, still laying in her bed, noticing how pale his skin still appeared. She checked his pulse, and then gently moved aside some of the offending snowy locks, to check his temperature. “You are still in no shape to ride and won’t be for some while.” She smiled at him. “I’ll probably have to bleach your hair again, to avoid any questions from Betty, and then maybe the sheriff.” 

Heyes scowled, but just sighed, closing his eyes. “Well, if I’ve missed the excitement for the day, I probably should just take another nap.”

Corabelle looked over to the Kid, worry showing on both of their faces. 

“Yeah, Heyes, that probably would be best.”

Corabelle was able to keep Hannibal Heyes in her bed for almost a week, and resting for another, but even she knew that was pushing their luck.

Heyes was still alarmingly pale when he mounted his horse. The Kid was not certain how far they would be able to ride that day.

Betty packed them a generous lunch, in case it needed to be their dinner too.

“Let me know where you end up,” Corabelle called up as they started to turn their horses.

“Now, Doc, you know we can’t do that,” the Kid replied, as Heyes was trying to come up with an excuse.

Corabelle sighed and nodded.

“If you move though,” Heyes said softly, meeting her eyes. “Send a note to Sheriff Lom Trevors, in Porterville, Wyoming. He’ll let us know.”

Corabelle smiled wryly but nodded. “Never know when you’ll need your own personal doctor again?”

“With our luck,” the Kid shook his head as he nudged his horse forward. “We will soon enough.” He touched his hat. “Thank you again, Doc. Wouldn’t be alive without you.”

“No, we wouldn’t,” Heyes agreed. He bent down to catch Corabelle’s hand and give it a kiss.

Then they were gone. Again.


	8. Chapter 8

This time she moved to Montana. It was simply the wanderlust that overtook her again this time. The winters were cold, but the spring and summer were beautiful. She settled by a small town, surrounded by ranches. There was mining in the recent past, but most of those men had moved along to the next strike and left behind the peaceful valleys and mountains.

The people of Clovis Creek welcomed her warmly. They were thrilled to have a doctor closer than Helena. She could have even told Mr. Wallace, the owner of the bank, that she had saved the lives of both Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry and he still would have been happy for her to settle there. Admittedly, since the news came across last year that they received amnesty, most bankers and railroad owners, once they got over their initial pique, were just happy to know Heyes and Curry were no longer a threat.

Corabelle actually wrote a note, and sent it to Sheriff Trevors, back in Porterville, congratulating them and letting them know where she was this time. She had not heard back, but really did not expected it. She moved twice since she left Coral Sands but had not kept in contact with them. She was well on the wrong side of thirty and knew she needed to settle somewhere. She figured having two formerly notorious outlaws show up wasn’t going to help.

As summer meandered into autumn however, she started to wish for some excitement, even if it involved gunshot former outlaws. There just was not enough to keep her busy. Women kept having babies, people kept getting cuts and burns, and unfortunately people continued to die of old age and ailments that could not be remedied. She still had time weighing heavily on her hands.

So she started volunteering for anything in the community that needed help. She joined the quilting bee. Her stitches were as good as any woman’s, having much practice stitching where it really mattered. She was not a great pie baker, but was the auctioneer at the summer fair, where they bid on all the delicious treats the other women baked and raised money for new school books. She sang in the church choir and even helped gather wildflowers for the altar every Sunday.

As the halcyon days of summer shortened into the crisp days of autumn, she dreaded the loneliness that the cold season would bring. Travel in Montana in the winter trickled down to only emergencies around the time of the Christmas holidays. She, of course, still got out during those times, as babies and accidents did not only happen in the warm weather. However, riding on horseback through four foot high drifts, to birth a baby in a small cramped cabin, did not seem to cure her ennui. 

Christmas had come and gone and the deep winter settled in for good. It was so bitterly cold that she was not even sought out to attend births, unless they did not go well. There were two in January. One she was able to save. One she was not. As a doctor she knew this was to be expected. As a woman she mourned. There was a week towards the end of the month that she did little but lay on her bed, except for taking care of her animals. Even in the depths of her doldrums, she knew she’d die out here without her horse. The cow dried up, and chickens were not laying, but she knew they deserved to eat, even if she did not feel like it.

Finally, a break in the weather came in February, as it sometimes would. She went out in the sun, and let it warm her face, as she cleaned out the barn, and restrung the ropes between her outbuildings, in preparation for the late winter blizzards that she knew were still to come.

Frank Johnson, the rancher to the west of her place, came over in the midst of her chores. He was a tall drink of water, taciturn, but kind hearted. Corabelle brought all but one of his family through the diphtheria epidemic and he was forever grateful. When she mourned little Jonathan with them, Ellie Johnson told her she lost four brothers to diphtheria one winter, so she hoped Johnny was keeping his uncles company in heaven, but very thankful that the rest of her children were still on this earth for a while longer.

“How you fairing, Doc?” Frank asked. “Your chickens laying again?”

“Here and there, Frank,” she smiled for the first time in a month. “Enough for me.”

He nodded. “The misses thought it would be best if I came over to check on you and I agreed.” He glanced around her place. “Looks like you faired alright this winter.”

“As well as most, I reckon,” she answered truthfully.

“I got me a couple things for you.” He got down off his horse and rummaged in his saddlebags. “Ellie gave me these here beans for you.” He handed her two jars of green beans. Even blanched and canned, they looked like spring to her.

“Thank her for me, will you, Frank?” She hugged the jars to her chest. “I’ll be certain to get the empties back over to her, come spring.”

He nodded succinctly, but then reached into his jacket pocket. “This came before Christmas, but we’ve not been able to get over since. We’re real sorry. The postmaster, Mr. Weaver, said it had been sitting there since November, so he gave it to us. Figured we’d see you before he did.” He handed her a letter.

She smiled again. “Well, guess he was right on that. Doubt if I’ll be into town before April, lessen Clara Hartness’ baby comes early.” She stuck it into her pocket. “Why don’t you come in and have a cup of coffee before you head back?”

Frank paused. “Not certain, if that’s seemly, Doc, with just the two of us here.”

Corabelle sighed, but then pulled herself up to her full height and put her hands on her hips. “Frank Johnson, I’ve seen parts of you your wife’s probably not seen in the daylight, so I think you can have a cup of coffee to warm you, without it compromising your dignity any further.” She turned towards the cabin, hoping he’d follow her.

The need for something warm before the ride back to his ranch won out and they shared a quiet cup or two before he headed out. He had never been a man of many words. Folks around there said he had a dark past and avoided talking, so as not to bring it up. Corabelle figured he had always been a quiet man, regardless of what he might have done in a prior life. She was glad Ellie was able to talk enough for both of them. They seemed to have a good life together.

She waved from her porch, while he eased his horse back up the valley towards his place. She then turned back into her cabin and pulled the letter from her pocket. It was postmarked from Porterville, Wyoming, last October.

Corabelle,  
It was nice to finally hear from you. We’ve been busy clearing up some outstanding business, now that our deal with the governor was finally completed. Hope to see you before Christmas.  
Joshua and Thaddeus.

She broke down in huge sobs. She hadn’t cried anytime during the dark of the winter, but the surprise of the letter finally broke through the tough wall she built around her heart. It was so wonderful that they had actually written her back and so devastating that they had not actually made it to see her. She wondered if it would be news any more if Hannibal Heyes or Kid Curry had died somewhere on the trail to Clovis Creek, Montana.

It was almost May before she made it into town. The weather cleared up for the most part, but she kept busy, catching up on lingering ailments from the hard winter. She had almost run out of coffee by the time Joe Hartness sent his oldest son, Eli, to fetch Corabelle for Clara’s lying in. As this was the sixth child to which she had given birth, and the second one that Corabelle delivered, all went smoothly. The Hartnesses ran the general store in Clovis Creek, so Clara had adequate nutrition during her pregnancy, unlike some of the women on the more remote ranches.

“Clara and the baby are doing well,” Corabelle could genuinely smile at Mr. Hartness. “But just send Eli back out if she has any concerns.” She knew Clara would not send for her unless it was a true problem, not after having kept four of her previous five alive so far.

Corabelle was walking over to the livery to fetch her horse, cradling a large bag of coffee, which was her payment for the birthing, when Mr. Weaver called to her from his business, which doubled as the post office, as well as the blacksmith.

She turned and met him before the warm door of the smithy. “You have something that needs checked out, before I go home, Mr. Weaver?” At least it would be warm in the smithy. It may be almost May, but there was still a cool wind here in Montana.

“No, thanks, Doc. I’m doin’ fine.” Weaver smiled back. “I just got another letter for you. Frank give you that one from last fall?”

Corabelle nodded as he put another letter in her palm. “Yes, and thank you Mr. Weaver. Give my best to your wife.”

She thought to keep the letter until she returned home, but then began to wonder if perhaps it needed a reply before she left town. The telegraph had yet to come to Clovis Creek.

The letter was dated last December.

Corabelle,  
By now, you’ve surely figured out that we won’t be able to come this winter. Unfortunately, the Kid has the grippe. Ain’t no good doctor here, with or without any of your sovereign remedy. Luckily, he don’t have any broken ribs, and no pneumonia, so it’s just been nursing him through it. He won’t be strong enough to brave the winters out there, so I’ll be taking him South for a while. We always did better in there in the winter.  
Can’t tell you exactly where we’ll be. Guess it don’t matter so much no more, but old habits die hard, and it just depends on where we can find a comfortable town.  
Send a letter to Lom, if things have changed, and you don’t need a visit from a couple of washed up old outlaws. Thaddeus says hello, and that he misses his favorite doctor, but then so do I.  
HH

She turned back to get on her horse with a smile.

The spring was busy with planting, her cow calving, and visits to quite a few women in the area who were wanting reassurance that their pregnancies were going well. It had been a very cold winter and there would be a large crop of babies as well as wheat.

She should have been weeding, so the beans would come in fuller, but she had been to two ranches that day, and was tired. She was rocking slowly in the chair she had put back on the porch. Her eyes were closed and her head was resting against the back. She had on her old, now rather disreputable gray dress. It had been clean at the beginning of the day, but now was covered in road dust, among other things. It still served her well when examining patients.

A light breeze wafted over her face. She heard the low of the cow and the clucking of the chickens. Soon she would have to get up to feed both, but not quite yet.

The jingle of tack on a horse started to make its way to her ears. She knew she unsaddled Jack as soon as she got home. She always treated her horse well, as she demanded much in return, with trips out in all sorts of weather. 

Just for a moment she wished for the quiet of the winter, but then she sighed, opening her eyes to see who needed her now. Sometimes she wished for something between being bored and exhausted.

Two riders were coming down the lane. They looked familiar, but then she knew everyone within fifty miles. She squinted, and then closed her eyes, knowing she was tired. Her eyes must be playing tricks on her, or she had fallen asleep and was dreaming, but she desperately wanted the vision she has seen to be true.

She opened her eyes again. It was them, she was certain if it. The Kid held himself as he always had and she could see Heyes still wore that battered black hat.

She pushed herself out of her rocking chair and ran down the lane to greet them.


End file.
